Page 20 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)

“Uh huh. Like your little stunt outside the grocery store the other day. Taking your shirt off and flexing your abs in your firefighting … costume.” Her tone is teasing now, lighter, the alcohol loosening her up a little, and I like it. I like it when Wren teases me.

“One, it’s not a costume,” I correct her. “It’s called turnout. And it’s high-tech gear that protects me in a fire. And two, that was for a good cause,” I say, but all I can think about is that Wren was looking at me. And that she’s still thinking about me shirtless.

“Sure. Whatever. Just please keep your shirt on around me.”

My eyes roam over Wren, and I don’t miss the way she squirms slightly in her seat, like the thought of me shirtless in front of her is doing something to her that she is trying to deny.

But as my eyes trail down the length of her, they catch on something at the end of her lounge chair, down by her feet.

A familiar leather book. I would recognize it anywhere, because she filled it up with drawings of me. I can almost feel it in my hands, the way I used to take it from her if she was hyper-focused on it and I wanted to kiss her. I tilt my head toward it.

“Are you still doing your art?”

“Not really. Not since I went away for school.”

“Why not?” I ask, getting a shrug for a response.

“I don’t know. Life got in the way, I guess. It was hard to find time once I started university. I had other priorities.” She fiddles with the iron ring around her pinky finger, spinning it absentmindedly.

I don’t know why I do it, but I lean forward to pick up the book, almost like it’s a magnetic force pulling me towards it.

It holds so much of who Wren and I used to be together, I can’t resist looking through it.

But Wren slaps my hand away as I near it and snatches it off the chair, clutching it to her chest.

“No way, José.” She sticks her tongue out at me and squints her eyes. “I’m not letting you look at that. My design is in there, and I still intend on winning this thing, you know.”

“Right.” I pull my hand back slowly. “Good luck with that.” I wink at her, but her eyes flash with something that looks like determination. It looks like she might murder me .

“Millers don’t lose,” she snaps. “If you’re not first?—”

“You’re last.” I finish the sentence for her. Her dad used it non-stop growing up. It’s no wonder Wren grew up to be such a fierce competitor. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Exactly. Millers are never last.”

“Never?” I say, with a mischievous lilt to my voice.

“Ever.”

“Prove it.” I can’t help myself, playing these games with her, toying with her.

Poking and prodding until her competitive streak blazes hot and ignites the fire in her eyes.

Until she aims that laser focus at me. My eyes flick down to the pizza, to the container of red pepper flakes in the box.

“We each take a bite of pizza with half the red pepper flakes on it. The first one to give in and drink, loses.”

“You’re on.” It feels childish, these bets we have with each other, but it gives me the same thrill it always did.

We prepare the pizza. Wren holds her slice out while I divide the spicy flakes evenly between ours, and then we hold them up in a cheers motion before both chomping down at the same time.

At first, it’s not so bad. I chew the bite quickly, the flakes dry and sticking to the inside of my mouth as I swallow. A few moments later, the spice hits. My mouth is burning. It’s on fire, and it’s making my whole body sweat.

I manage to grit my teeth through the pain and smile at Wren as if it’s not affecting me at all. She returns the smile, but her cheeks turn red, her eyes watering. It’s fucking torture. It’s so goddamned spicy.

After a minute or so, I can’t take it anymore.

I don’t know how Wren is holding out, but I’m at my limit.

I think the inside of my mouth has started peeling, it’s so painful.

I desperately grab for my beer, picking it up and chugging it.

Moments after I do, Wren does the same, only holding out long enough to win.

She takes a few big gulps of her beer and lets out a heavy breath.

“I win,” she says through ragged breaths.

When I finally come up for air, we both burst out in laughter. We laugh until my stomach aches, and it hits me how nice it is to have some normal moments with Wren again. Some lighthearted, playful moments like we used to.

We catch our breath and, despite the way our mouths are still on fire, return to reality long enough for me to notice how low the sun is sitting in the sky.

It’s filtering through the tall evergreens surrounding Wren’s yard.

I pull my phone out to check the time—I haven’t even looked at it since I got here—and it’s almost nine o’clock.

“I should go,” I say, standing from the lounge chair. Wren gets up after I do. “Ruby is probably starving, and she’ll need a walk.” Not that Wren will care. She wasn’t exactly Ruby’s number one fan when they met.

That’s why it surprises me when Wren responds with, “You can bring her over here next time you come.”

A warmth blooms in my chest at the suggestion, and it reaches my face, turning my mouth up into a full-on, genuine smile.

One point to Wren. She’s making up for lost ground with her suggestion.

Maybe I read the situation wrong, and the thought makes me wonder if there are other situations I’ve read wrong with Wren, too.

“Sure. She’d like that. ”

The smile is still on my face when I get home. It’s still there as I feed Ruby, still there when I take her for a walk. It starts to fade only when my exhaustion from a long day of work sinks all the way through to my bones.

But then I check my phone once more, and the smile is back, big and wide, like a complete idiot. Because there’s a text from Wren.

SHE-DEVIL

Chili flakes: 1 Hudson: 0